


There's a pile of your clothes at the end of my bed.

by lovelyagainhappily



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Gryles, Help, M/M, Sad, terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:03:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyagainhappily/pseuds/lovelyagainhappily





	There's a pile of your clothes at the end of my bed.

"Dear Nick, I know you can’t read this now, but, maybe if there is even an afterlife..maybe you can read it there. That’s why I’m having them bury it with you. You would have been sixty nine today. Haha. Laugh it up, pretty boy. A funeral on a birthday. Wow. The boys tried to console me. Didn’t really work. Although, nothing works when you’re about to bury the love of your life. Just, watch over me. I love you forever, forever in your arms, Harold."

Harry watched his own fingers slip the note gently into Nick’s cold, stiff arms, almost as if they were someone elses. His fingers were cold, today. Cold and stiff, like Nick’s were, in that coffin. “Nick, can’t you please jump up and scare me? Please tell me you’re joking." He cried, tears falling onto the older man’s unmoving, lifeless face. “ ** _Nick!_** " Harry screeched, clawing at the jumper they put him in. “Nick, Please. I can’t sleep without your heartbeat."

  
Zayn slowly walked behind the curly headed boy, gently pulling him into his arms, away from the casket. _“Haz."_ He breathed. “He’s _gone_ , I’m sorry." Harry nodded, fleetingly looking back at Nick as they slowly shut the lid, knowing that was the last time he’d ever see Nicholas’ pretty lashes, and gorgeous face. Harry took a slow breath as Niall came over, wrapping an arm around the younger boy, patting his face dry.

He slid into the sleek black car, scrunched in the middle of the other four boys, two on each side of him, one side not sure if they should hug him or let him be, the other being completely clingy. ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Harry thought. ‘He used to be alive, and happy.’ Harry began to think back to before this happened.

Just in the fall of last year Nick had been fine. Wearing his old man jumpers, drinking his tea, and always reading poetry to Harry. Cheesy poetry at that. Harry closed his eyes, seeing Nick’s laughing face. Hearing his laughing, feeling it. “He **can’t** be." Harry breathed, opening his eyes, not seeing a Nick. “He can’t be dead."

Harry thought back again. The last time he called Nick old, or joked about it, was before the joints went. Nick was slowly walking around the house, trying to hide his sore back. “Old man." Harry teased, only before giving Nick a gentle, loving backrub. And that was that. That was just a memory. He’d never feel Nick again, or hear him complain. Or anything.

Nick was gone. And so was he.

The car pulled into the graveyard, the door slowly opening, two of the boys helping Harry out, and over to the plot. Harry looked down at the deep abyss into the ground, contemplating throwing himself in. He quickly sat down, closing his eyes before a few last words were mumbled tearfully, and Nick was in that dark hole, buried under a thick layer of dirt.

It had been a few months now, and Harry still felt just as horrid as he did the day Nick died. Except today was different. He finally built up the strength to rummage through Nick’s things, finding a letter addressed to him.

"Hey popstar. I’m not very good at this kind of stuff. Well, dying, getting old, and writing stupid notes. I’ll probably be gone when you find this, I hope I am. Just so you don’t have to see me in pain. I’ll watch over you, Harold. Don’t worry. I know you wear my clothes, and sleep on my side of the bed. It’s okay, baby. I’m there. I’ll love you and protect you always. Don’t rush to see me, I love you, boo.~Nick."

Harry read down the letter, laughing almost. As he made it to the end, seeing a notation to flip it over, he did, seeing on the back: “PS: I left tapes of my heartbeat, and talking for you. I love you lots x"  
Harry sobbed at this, holding his heart, digging frantically to find them.

  
**Harry Styles, aged 59, found dead in flat.**   


That’s what the newspaper read, but it didn’t matter. He and Nick were embracing now, looking each other in the eyes. “Hi baby." Nick muttered, looking Harry over. “You’re 19." He muttered, chuckling.  
“And you’re still a 28 year old man." Harry quipped back, kissing Nick.

And they lived for eternity in paradise with all their loved ones.  
And it was the ending they only could have wished for.

Fin.


End file.
